


maybe

by DizzyDresden



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Ficlet, old
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:12:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3690084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDresden/pseuds/DizzyDresden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He smiles now, he smiles now, you know?<br/>(a couple of POV rambles about love and ninjas)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. maybe

He smiles now…

He smiles now, you know?

And it's weird weird weird, to see him like that. Happy, I mean. Not Brooding Mc Angsty-Pants, I'm gonna stare at you until your soul shrivels up like a salted snail. He actually freaking smiles… well, as much as a man like Vincent can smile, at least.

His eyes kinda crinkle and there's almost a bit of a twinkle, a bit of a spark, a little inkling of hope for redemption that makes the world slow down to a screeching halt and it seems like everything's gonna be okay in the end, like a hug from Tifa or a pat and ruffle from Cid.

And then his lip quirks just a bit so you never quite know if he's actually smiling unless you really really know him. He slouches a bit at the same time, ducking behind the memory cloak collar, just because he's used to it being there.

And, and, I dunno he's just more… un-Vincent-like, but not too much, it's not like he's gonna steal my moogle cloak and do the Macarena on Tifa's counter (which is actually a lot of fun, but it's kinda hard to balance after a few shots and maybe I might have forgotten that part) and he's still as quiet as he was, but damn, he's always been articulate… I'm getting off track like I usually do. Well, it's not my fault there's so many fun and interesting trails of thought you can go off on— all right, all right, back to what I was saying.

I guess he's more approachable since the whole DEEPGROUND thing, maybe Omega or Chaos managed to finally knock some sense into him. Or he was abducted by more JENOVA wannabes and another Hojo that was cloned by Hojo (because he'd totally do it. Come on, he was a megalomaniac with a god complex, he had to for the sake of science… or really creepy kinks that all those evil scientist types have) cloned Vincent so he could do even more experiments made out of total grossness and now when he hears the word 'floccinaucinihilipilification' he'll suddenly kidnap Cloud and lock him in the submarine with a hundred malfunctioning Cait Siths. Okay, or maybe he finally forgave himself because he saved the world three times. Whatever, agree with Shelke… and everyone else.

Whatever.

What I'm trying to say is, I'm kinda, well maybe, even though he's all… Spit it out, Yuffie! He's… cool now. Not uber-super-awesome-cool like me, he's still a little lame with all his gentleman stuff, but since everything that's happened, I… uh, well, I think I might like him a helluva lot more than I used to, I don't think it's a stupid little crush anymore, I'm tumbling head over feet over head down a steep, rocky, muddy mountain with cactaurs and tonberries into.. into

Shit.

Not good. Not good at all.


	2. Vincent is...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuffie thinks about Vincent

Vincent is—Vincent is Vincent. He's just Vincent. He just is. He's an enigma entangled with a mystery that's super glued to angst and embitterment all tied together with a whole lot of red black and gold. He's everything and nothing at all, opposites and paradoxes, but somehow it all makes sense with him.

He masquerades under the guise of sharp edges and pomp and circumstance, always the knight, always the gentleman, but he's not really like that at all. He's sanded down and worn and all of what used to be sharp aren't anymore and the only thing you have to worry about are the splinters.

His own voice is proof of it, sounding like dirty raw silk and threadbare velvet, rough but comfortable in a familiar way. He's really only a broken romantic man, who doesn't know if it's finished or if it's just beginning.

And he's bone-achingly efficient and direct, all cut the crap and bare facts. He's blunt, yes, but he's cool, calm, collected and his calculating gaze sees everything and misses nothing. He cuts down to the core and doesn't look back, never looks back, but he still lives in the past.

He's pieces and bits and parts and sums of what used to be a whole, except somethings were taken out and lost or replaced with pieces that don't fit quite right. He's mixed up and backwards and is missing just enough to see if you squint, but he's put back together with duct tape and super glue and elbow grease and love so you really, really have to squint and know what you're looking for.


End file.
